


Death on the Rock

by OllyJay



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Case Fic, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-04-28 12:13:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 12,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14449047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OllyJay/pseuds/OllyJay
Summary: Phryne is in Gibraltar on the trail of a missing man.Eastern Beach, Gibraltar





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lady_Lola_Lu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Lola_Lu/gifts).



> Lady_Lola_Lu this is not the fic you beta'ed for me but it is the one which I wrote thinking about all the ideas we shared. ❤️❤️❤️

The light from a single desk lamp was enough to make out the words _Engineering_ _Department_ on the brass plaque of the open door, and to show not everyone within had retired for the evening. Shuffling through the piles of notes on his desk, the sole occupant found the one he needed. He picked up his fountain pen and wrote down some figures, then did a quick calculation and sat back in his chair.

When they had been living in one of the hastily erected post-war terrace houses in damp, dreary Croydon, the opportunity to move to Gibraltar had seemed too good to miss. A historic anomaly, strategically placed at the entrance to the Mediterranean sea, it combined the climate of Spain with the reassuringly familiar law and social structures of home. Unfortunately it hadn’t worked out quite as they had hoped.

With a small sigh, he picked up the Engineering Standards chart, flicking through its pages to confirm what he already knew. He looked longingly towards his coat and bag. He wished, more than anything, that he could close the book, file away his notes and just go home. Faulkner was going to be angry, and rightly so, because this was going to cost the company a lot of money in replacement parts.

He wasn’t a brave man, two years at the front had proved that, but there was nothing to be gained by procrastinating. Best to get it over with. Reaching for the telephone, he dialled a number. “Liza? Yes, I’m still here, sorry.” He listened to the response. “Wonderful, I won’t be too much longer. I just need to show Lord Faulkner something and then I’ll be on my way.” A smile played across his lips at whatever was said from the other end of the phone. “Yes, I love you too.”

He put down the phone, collected the piece of paper with his calculations and walked into the darkness of the factory. Not long after there was shouting, a gunshot and another man passed swiftly by the office door.

Then there was only silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Gibraltar was captured by the British in 1704, during the War of the Spanish Succession and has been in their possession ever since. It remains a British Overseas Territory, meaning it falls under the sovereignty of the United Kingdom though it is internally self-governed. Spain has attempted many times to bring it back under its control and at various times has closed its borders. In multiple referendum on the topic the Gibraltarians have chosen to retain their special relationship with Britain. Unsurprisingly, the majority of citizens are of either British or Spanish descent and English is the official language. Its position at the entrance/exit of the Mediterranean sea has been an important strategic advantage to the British Navy since at least the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805 (Nelson’s body was taken there after the battle). During World War Two, in 1940, its entire civilian population (around 16,000) were evacuated and the peninsula turned into a fortress. The story of the evacuees is incredible in itself as they were shunted from country to country, with the last returning home in 1947.
> 
> 2\. An automatic telephone exchange was installed in Gibraltar in 1926.


	2. The Policeman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, they're sharing a drink they call loneliness  
> But it's better than drinkin' alone  
>  _Piano Man - Billy Joel_

The policeman sat down heavily on a stool at the bar, placed his elbows on the counter and buried his head in his hands. Dramatically.

The bar sat on the very edge of Eastern Beach facing out to the Alboran Sea. In the summer months it would be packed with wealthy English holidaymakers enjoying the only beach in Gibraltar not subject to the shade of the Rock, but that was still a couple of months away, and this late in the evening it was empty except for the ever present barman.

The man approached the policeman and enquired, “Bad day?”

“The worst,” mumbled the officer as he slowly raised his head. “Today, I learned I am to have a partner.”

“Ah.” In a white shirt, open at the throat with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the man behind the counter made sympathetic noises as he picked up a spotless glass and started to polish it.

“It is a woman.”

“Oh?” Blue eyes widened with interest.

The policeman shook his head. “No, no, she is not the sort of woman you would be interested in.”

The barman shrugged. The sparkling glass was placed on the counter and then another beside it. “So, you going to tell me how the investigation is progressing?”

“Of course, this is why I am here.”

The barman picked up the bottle that he kept aside just for them and poured amber liquid into the glass. “And here I was, thinking it was because you find my smile irresistible.” He pushed the glass across the counter.

The policeman took his whiskey. “No,” he raised the glass in slow languorous salute, “it is definitely your cheekbones I come to stare at.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3\. The Gibraltar Police Force was established in 1830 making it, outside the United Kingdom, the oldest police force in the world. It was established 9 months after Sir Robert Peel set up the Metropolitan Police Force, he sent one of his lads out to Gibraltar to organise it.


	3. A Lucky Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> Central Police Station, Irish Town, Gibraltar 1864 - 2016

“Inspector, are you being purposely obtuse?”

The policeman, sitting behind his desk in Irish Town, gazed at the woman seated opposite and sighed. “It is possible, Miss Fisher, that I am being obtuse because I do not know what that word means and therefore am entirely ignorant of my offence.”

Phryne fought hard to control her irritation. The man needed a shave and his brown suit had definitely seen better days, but even so, slightly taller than her and slim with wavy brown hair, tan skin and blue eyes he was undeniably good looking... and, more importantly, he was not to blame for her disappointment. She forced herself to focus on his reputation for ignoring rank, wealth and social standing in his investigations. And there was his willingness to look into seemingly unsolvable cases long after all the leads had gone cold. Yes, she reminded herself sternly, there was much to admire about this man. She finally found herself able to turn on her most beguiling of smiles.

“Inspector Garza...” her voice, in sharp contrast to its earlier tone, was like honey. “...I still don’t understand why you reopened this case or why you’re treating Faulkner as your main suspect.”

“Alas, Miss Fisher, there is no stunning display of detective ability with which to astound you." He held his hands in front of him, palms up, moving them gracefully apart as he continued to speak, "I merely hope to be lucky.”

She couldn’t prevent her eyes from rolling. “You’re a surprisingly lucky man, Inspector. Was it luck that led you to solve the murder of Miss Simmonds last month? Or to unearth the truth behind the O’Malley case? And to find the abducted Reynolds boy so quickly last year?”

“What can I say, Miss Fisher?” He repeated his hand gesture, “I was born under a lucky star.”

Phryne stood, letting her chair scrape gratingly across the tiles of his office floor. “Then perhaps you should buy a lottery ticket, Inspector,” she flung over her shoulder as she stalked out.

“Perhaps,” he replied, to the now empty room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4\. Inspector Garza is Basque. He thinks in Basque (Euskara), has excellent English and speaks Spanish and French flawlessly. (Basque Country is located on the westernmost Pyrenees and is made up of parts of northern Spain and southwestern France. The language is different from those of the rest of Western Europe.) An aptitude for languages is not the only thing he has in common with Phryne, he is also good with knots. The story of how he ended up in Gibraltar via London is interesting, remind me to tell you about it one day ; )
> 
> 5\. Lotteries have a surprisingly long history. The first one in the United Kingdom was during the reign of Elizabeth I to finance the Royal Navy. The Spanish Christmas lottery started in 1812, by prize payout it is the biggest in the world. The oldest continuously played one is the Dutch National State Lottery which started in 1726.


	4. The Bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  

“I take it that things have not improved, with your partner?” the man behind the bar asked as the Inspector made himself comfortable at the counter in his customary place. It was earlier than he normally visited so there was a scattering of people taking advantage of the last of the daylight.

“Oh my friend, if anything they have got worse,” came the reply. “She has been looking at my past cases. Why would she do that, do you think?”

“Curiosity?” he offered.

“Perhaps,” Garza said, though he sounded unconvinced, “she has certainly curiosity enough to kill a village full of cats. I don’t trust her.”

The barman snorted, “You don’t trust anyone, and given the number of secrets you have, that seems a wise approach.” The two glasses appeared on the counter. “I really should start charging you for these drinks,” he said as he filled them.

Garza took his whiskey, “Now, what sort of friend would you be if you did that?”

“A significantly wealthier one?” he suggested as he clinked his glass against Garza’s. “So - have you worked out why she’s here yet?”

“I am told she and the wife of the missing man were school friends. Therefore, my Commander informs me, her assistance will be invaluable to me in solving this case.”

“Mrs Rollerston is American, isn’t she?” the barman enquired halfheartedly, his attention wandering to a table where two attractive English women were enjoying an evening out. Blue eyes turned to Garza, wrinkling at the corners as he tilted his head toward them. “Sorry mate, duty calls.” He grabbed two tall glasses, pouring a generous measure of gin into each. “The secret of my success,” he joked, filling the glasses with tonic, a quick squeeze of lime and floating a sliver of lemon on each. “Be right back,” he called untruthfully over his shoulder.

Garza watched his friend chat with the women. His attentions were clearly welcomed and before long he had pulled up a chair. Garza helped himself to more whiskey from the bottle and lit a cigarette as the blond woman leaned in to whisper something in his friend’s ear. The dark-haired woman opposite, not to be beaten, placed her hand on his knee, earning a wide grin from him. Garza looked on enviously, the man was irresistible when he smiled like that… he wondered which one of the women would have the pleasure of seeing that smile in a far more intimate setting.

The Inspector sighed. It was always gratifying to see a master at work. Now if only he could come up with a way to handle Miss Fisher as adroitly. A customer approached, Garza glanced back to his friend still fully engrossed in discussion, sighed again, stood, lifted the counter-top and stepped behind the bar to serve.

Eventually the women left, the blonde letting her hand linger on the barman’s shoulder, like a promise. Once they were out of sight he came back to the bar.

Garza, back in his rightful place, looked up from his glass, his gaze significantly less sharp than it had been earlier. “I have had an idea.”

His friend waited, intrigued.

“You must teach me how to seduce her,” Garza announced.

“Really?” the barman stifled a laugh, “That’s your solution to her asking questions about your investigative methods?”

“Why not? You flirt whenever you want to change the topic.” Garza ran his hand through his thick hair, sucking in his non-existent stomach and puffing out his chest. “I am both younger and more attractive than you. Yes,” he pointed a slightly unsteady finger, “you, my friend, must teach me how to take her mind off the things we do not want her poking her beautiful nose into.”

This time the low rumble of laughter rolled out unchecked.


	5. The Interview

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  

“Miss Fisher,” the Inspector was waiting for her at the gate. He held it open to allow her to pass through, “I was hoping for your company today.”

She looked at him, suspicious. The warmth of his welcome was unexpected after their encounter yesterday. In fact, the invitation to be present at Lord Faulkner’s interview had been a surprise. She decided to play the game, at least until she could establish what angle he was working.

In the meantime, as they walked up the path side by side she had to admit he not only looked fantastic in a dark blue three-piece suit but he smelled deliciously of sandalwood and soap. If she didn’t look too closely, or better still closed her eyes, it was almost like being home. In Melbourne. The thought made her misstep, and his hands reached out to steady her. When he didn’t withdraw them, she thanked him brusquely and stepped away.

The butler was expecting them and took them directly to the library, where, surrounded by evidence of the superiority of English civilisation, Lord Faulkner sat reading his newspaper behind a large oak desk. Looking over the top of his paper, he indicated with a nod that Miss Fisher was welcome to take a seat but ignored Garza completely.

Phryne chose to remain standing beside the policeman.

Garza respectfully removed his hat and introduced himself and the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher. “Lord Faulkner, we are investigating the disappearance three months ago of one of your employees. A Mr Harry Rollerston.”

Faulkner lowered his newspaper, his entire face making it clear that he had no interest in this topic. “Well, he’s hardly likely to be in my library.”

Garza bobbed his head in agreement. “No, but could you tell me please, when you saw him last?”

“Really?” Faulkner sneered at the policeman, “I don’t think you quite understand who I am.”

Phryne smiled, but it was the sort a cat might give to a mouse trapped between its paws. “Let me explain,” she turned to Garza. “Lord Faulkner is the inheritor of immense family wealth made hundreds of years ago by one of his ancestors through the exploitation or betrayal of his fellow men. He has no inherent skills or characteristics that would enable him to make his own way in the world and so he is dependent on his title and money to intimidate people.”

Garza did not laugh at the sharp intake of breath and look of shock on the man’s face, instead he managed to maintain his professionalism and stick to his topic. “Lord Faulkner, nonetheless, I require you to answer my question, please.”

Faulkner tore his eyes away from Phryne to bark at Garza. “Don’t be ridiculous! How can I be expected to know where each of my employees is at any given time?”

“When did you last see Mr Rollerston?” Garza repeated patiently.

“I don’t recall,” was the dismissive reply.

Phryne interrupted. “Mrs Rollerston says he came to see you the evening he went missing.”

The look he flung her would have stripped paint from a wall. Phryne didn’t even blink.

“Rubbish,” Faulkner said, “More likely he was with his mistress. Yes, that is exactly the sort of thing a man would tell his wife in those circumstances.”

“The Rollerstons were happily married,” Phryne snapped.

Seeing he had hit a nerve Faulkner persisted on that line. “No man is happily married,” he taunted her. “Devotion to one woman is an unnatural state, the sole purpose of marriage is to ensure a legitimate heir.” He let his eyes wander appreciatively down Phryne’s body, “Where a man goes for his pleasure is something entirely different.”

Garza sensing danger, touched Phryne’s arm briefly by way of warning, before stepping in. “You are, of course, entitled to your opinion Lord Faulkner but Mrs Rollerston requested Miss Fisher investigate her husband's disappearance so she, at least, feels some level of devotion to him.”

Faulkner folded his newspaper and placed it on the desk as he stood - making clear that the interview was over. “I would like you both to leave,” he said. “And if you have any more questions you can contact my lawyer.” He rummaged through a desk drawer before finding a card that he flicked dismissively at Garza. He sat back down, picked up his newspaper and began to read as though they weren’t there.

Garza looked at Phryne, tilted his head towards the door and followed her out of the library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 6\. I would have loved for Lord Faulkner to have had a huge estate so Garza had more time to flirt with Phryne as they made their way to the door but, rather inconveniently, Gibraltar is only 6.7km squared and that's not a lot of space to fit in the 16,000 people that inhabited it in 1930. This means Lord Faulkner probably resides in a ridiculously large four storey town house, and the having of a gate with path, is a luxury in itself. So, Inspector Garza will just have to do his best with the time available ; )


	6. The Lady Detective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  

“Well, that was a complete waste of time,” Phryne fumed as she stalked down the path. “What an arrogant man.”

Walking a few paces behind, knowing she could not see him, Garza let himself smile. “You did insult him first,” he pointed out.

She spun around, eyes blazing, “Why are you defending him? He started it all by ignoring you!”

He held his hands up by way of placation, “No, no - you are right. The man is, of course, an arrogant fool.”

She calmed down, slightly, and resumed walking.

“It is possible, however, that we may have got more from him if you hadn’t attacked him,” he said conversationally, as he fell into step beside her.

Phryne snorted. “He was never going to tell you anything.”

Garza shrugged. “Probably, you are right.”

“Tell me again why you think he’s behind Mr Rollerston’s disappearance?” Her voice was honey-coated this time.

He considered his response for a second before deciding there was no harm in sharing, a little. “Because Mrs Rollerston believes it.”

She stopped walking and stared at him open-mouthed. “You are pursuing this line of enquiry based solely on what Eliza told you?”

“Why not? Is she a woman prone to fancy?” he asked as he too came to a stop, turning back to look at her.

Phryne chose to treat this as a rhetorical question. “So you don’t think he had a lover?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, but if he has, I don't see why that should be relevant.”

They both began to walk again. Side by side.

Phryne couldn’t help glancing at him subtly as they made their way back to their cars. Today, clean shaven, pomaded and sharply dressed, he looked almost a different man. Eliza had described the Inspector as very handsome, and Garza certainly was, but she had also spoken of a gentle, patient man who had visited her at her home, listening respectfully to her theory regarding her husband's disappearance. Garza had not initially struck Phryne as that man, but perhaps she had been too quick to judge him.


	7. The Barman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now John at the bar is a friend of mine  
> He gets me my drinks for free  
> And he's quick with a joke or to light up your smoke  
> But there's someplace that he'd rather be  
>  _Piano Man - Billy Joel_

It was late. The bar was dark except for a solitary light that showed there was still one occupant, waiting. Garza hesitated at the door wondering if he was about to interrupt an arranged assignation but, as he stepped in, the smile he received made it clear he was the expected guest.

“How goes the seduction, Casanova?” the barman enquired, laughter bubbling just below the surface of his voice.

“I believe she hates me less then she did yesterday.” Garza grinned as he took his seat at the bar. He had not failed to notice the thoughtful glances Miss Fisher had cast his way, when she thought he wasn’t looking.

Blue eyes twinkled in amusement at Garza’s obvious pride in his achievement, before turning serious. “And Faulkner?”

The smile dropped. “Not so good. He told us nothing and now we must deal through his lawyer.”

“Ah... that is going to make it difficult.”

Both men looked disheartened, the bottle and glasses appeared on the counter.

“How did she get on with him?” the barman asked, as he poured.

“Mutual hatred, I think, would describe it best. Which was a shame. We may have got more had she charmed him instead.” Garza rested his hand on his glass.

“I doubt Faulkner would have fallen for something that obvious. He was never going to tell you anything.” He put down the bottle, picked up his glass and held it out. 

Garza touched his glass against it. “That’s what she said too.” He took a sip of his whiskey before launching into a meticulous account of the interview.

They drank in silence for a while, surrounded by the gloom of the empty bar.

“I wonder...” the barman pondered.

“Yes,” Garza said, eager for his input.

“I wonder if you can use their dislike for each other to put Faulkner off his game? You’ll have to do it with his lawyer in the room, which will make it harder, but if she can get under his skin, he might just slip up. By the sound of it, you won't even need to brief her - just let her go at him, sit back, throw in a few prompts and watch for weaknesses in his story.”

"Very devious." Garza raised his glass in salute, “You would have made an excellent policeman, my friend.”


	8. The Client

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> Main Street, Gibraltar in the 1930s

Phryne, seated at a table outside a cafe on Main Street, relaxed back into the chair. She sipped at her drink, not entirely sure of its contents but finding the sting of alcohol satisfying as she absentmindedly watched people passing by. A lean figure striding confidently through the crowds in a dark suit caught her eye, and she sat up. When she realised it was just Inspector Garza weaving through the masses, she settled back in her chair but continued to track him.

“Miss Fisher?”

She dragged her eyes from the Inspector to find that Eliza Rollerston had arrived and was awaiting an invitation to join her. Phryne smiled and the woman sat gracefully in the chair opposite. A few years younger than Phryne, she was slim and fair-haired with delicate features. Her black clothing and hat set off her complexion perfectly but Phryne suspected that wasn’t why she had chosen them. “Sorry, I just saw the Inspector,” Phryne explained.

“Really?” Eliza twisted round, her eyes scanning the people. “Where?”

Phryne was about to point him out when he turned up a street and disappeared. “Never mind, he’s gone now.” She turned her attention back to the woman opposite her.

“Miss Fisher, did you learn anything from Lord Faulkner?”

Admiring her directness, Phryne replied, “Unfortunately, no. He denied seeing Harry on the night of his disappearance. He is not, I'm afraid, an overly cooperative man. Can you tell me anything more about him?”

Eliza shook her head, “Most companies encourage social interactions between families to create a sense of community, but I understand Lord Faulkner considers women to be a nuisance.”

Phryne nodded, that seemed likely. She waited for Eliza to continue. She had learnt from Jack that silence was often the best way to obtain information.

“The day-to-day business is run by Laurence Alcott, the Operations Manager. I met him a few times, but I didn’t like him.” Eliza’s lip curled up as though tasting something unpleasant, “He’s a terrible flirt.”

That, thought Phryne, was definitely something she could work with. “Did Harry share your opinion of him?”

Eliza blinked back tears and Phryne realised she had used the past tense. She leaned forward and squeezed the woman’s hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply…” she cursed herself - how could she have been so thoughtless?

Eliza shook her head, pulling her hand gently free from Phryne’s. “No, you’re right. Harry has been gone so long.” She straightened her back and pulled her shoulders back. “I know he’s probably dead. If he wasn’t, he would have found a way back to me. You see there’s only the two of us, we never had children. After the war… well, we couldn’t bear the idea of bringing an innocent into such a violent world.” She looked at Phryne, determination clear on her face, “I won’t let the man that took him from me go unpunished.”

Phryne held her gaze. She too was determined to solve Eliza’s case before she moved on.


	9. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  

“Miss Fisher,” the Inspector put the report he was reading down on his desk and gave his full attention to the woman about to knock on the open door of his office.

Phryne froze, her knuckles just grazing the glass. Logic told her he could have heard her heels as she approached, or perhaps her perfume had given her away, but his apparent prescience was unnerving. She shook her head to clear it, before taking a seat opposite him. “I'm afraid I haven't learnt anything more. Harry was the Head Engineer at Faulkner’s foundry for less than a year, but he wasn't happy and was looking for another position. Eliza never even met Faulkner, but she did mention a man called Alcott.”

Garza slid the report he’d been reading across the desk to her.

Phryne glanced down, perfectly formed letters proclaimed it to be a file on Laurence Alcott. She didn't pick it up. “Yes, thank you. I _accidentally_ encountered him at a club last night. Is there anything in there I should know before I meet him for drinks this evening?”

He smiled, “Ah, one step ahead, Miss Fisher? I must strive harder to keep up.”

“Please do, Inspector, it’s starting to get lonely out here on my own,” she said, aiming for banter but failing miserably.

His eyes met hers, “Be careful, Miss Fisher, being alone can become a habit.” Leaning across his desk, he reclaimed the folder, flicking through it. “Laurence Alcott, English father, French mother, engineer. Forty-two years old, unmarried, though I think you’ve already established that. He has worked for Faulkner for five years. No criminal record, here, in the United Kingdom or France. I have made local enquiries and he is popular amongst our female visitors during the summer.” That last titbit had come courtesy of the barman, who had recognised him immediately.

“Perfect,” Phryne said, as she stood to leave, “we’re meeting in the Terrace Bar of the Rock Hotel, this evening at nine.”

He nodded, the hotel was the newest addition to the nightlife of Gibraltar, and he had an idea how to be in attendance without drawing attention to himself, or spending any money.


	10. The Rock Hotel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  

From behind the bar Garza watched his partner in the arms of the fair-haired man who was competently guiding her around the dance floor. She looked completely entranced, gazing up at him through long lashes, leaning in that little bit too close and then holding there that little bit too long. He sighed. Whilst it was gratifying to watch such a masterful display, he wondered if anyone had ever had the pleasure of actually making her feel that way. He watched Alcott lean in to whisper something in her ear, she shook her head and indicated she wanted to take a break. Garza positioned himself behind the bar so she could speak to him if she needed to.

She stopped and asked for a glass of water. “I’m going to get him drunk and see if I can lure him into an indiscretion. We’ve got that interview with Faulkner and his lawyer early tomorrow, so can you up the alcohol content in his drinks?”

Garza nodded, the man had probably had enough not to notice the taste in any event.

Several drinks later it was clear her plan was working. Carrying another round of drinks over, hers as weak as his was strong, Garza heard Alcott telling her how important he was to Faulkner. She was looking suitably impressed, which encouraged Alcott to tell more tales. Garza admired her ability to manipulate the now clearly drunk man as much as her earlier flirting. As he cleared the empty glasses from their table and wiped it, Alcott began boasting that there were things he knew about Faulkner’s business operations that would see him hang. Garza moved away, not wanting to stifle the conversation.

Not long after, she walked past the bar heading to the powder room. On her way back she stopped briefly as though thanking him for his service, leaving a folded piece of paper on the counter before joining Alcott where he was waiting at the door.

Garza quickly picked up the note as soon as they were out of sight.

_Going to his apartment._

He put it in his pocket, grabbed his coat and hat and headed to the hotel foyer. He knew of a convenient doorway opposite Alcott’s from which he could keep watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7\. The Rock Hotel was built by the Marquess of Bute, opened in February 1932 and, at one time, was considered one of the premier hotels in Europe. It overlooks the Gibraltar Botanic Gardens and the harbour where the British Navy are based. During 1941 guests would have been disturbed by the sound of dynamite from the tunnel building that took place within the Rock behind them. These tunnels deserve a story all of their own; they contain a power station, water supply and hospital, with sufficient room to hold all 30,000 troops that were based in Gibraltar during WW2. There are still more undergrounds tunnel than roads in Gibraltar.
> 
> 8\. The pic at the start of this chapter is not from the Rock Hotel, unfortunately I couldn't find any from the relevant time period. Instead I have used a shot of Café de Paris in 1932 which is how I imagine things would have looked like. Café de Paris is a nightclub on Coventry Street, London that was opened in 1924, bombed during the blitz in 1941 with the loss of of 35 lives and re-opened in 1948.


	11. The Drunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  

Phryne heaved the semi-conscious man on to his side, propping him up with pillows so he wouldn’t roll on his back and choke. If there was one thing she had far too much experience of, it was caring for drunks. She went into the other room, found a comfortably large arm chair and dragged it into the bedroom, settling in to ponder what she had learned this evening.

Alcott, his boasting encouraged by her fluttering eyelashes, had indeed been indiscreet. There were hints of corners cut, cheaper alloys used in production, stress tests faked. She would get the Inspector to obtain a list of customer orders in the morning.

Phryne drew her legs up beneath her, put her elbow on the armrest and let her chin drop to her hand. In many ways this evening had been enjoyable, the food had been superb, Laurence was an excellent dancer and watching the Inspector struggle to fill his drinks orders had been hilarious. She was reminded of times past when she would have joyfully taken either of these men to her bed. But things change.

Laurence began to mutter and flail, and she unwound herself from the chair to soothe him and rearrange the bedclothes. Once he had settled, she resumed her seat, her mind turning to her client. Phryne did not think the man Eliza loved would willingly be involved in dishonesty, especially if it put lives at risk. She stared into the darkness, knowing the world could take a terrible toll on those that did the right thing, the noble thing.


	12. The Morning After

From across the street Garza saw the door to Alcott’s apartment opening. He immediately dropped his cigarette, crushing its burning tip quickly under his shoe. The sun was rising but fortunately there was still ample shadow for him to remain unseen.

Miss Fisher appeared. As she stood in the open doorway finding her bearings, she did not look like the woman who had glared at him across his desk, openly challenged Faulkner and danced so enchantingly with Alcott. She was rumpled. He suspected she had barely slept, probably in a chair - if the way she was rubbing her neck was anything to go by, in her clothes, definitely. But most of all he was struck by the sorrow etched on her face.

Garza remained motionless, sensing she would be angry if she knew he had seen her like this. When she had passed from his sight he leaned back against the wall and contemplated.


	13. The File

Piles of documents, the product of this mornings visit to Faulkner's business premises, were stacked haphazardly across Garza’s desk, with even more spilling from the boxes on the floor. Garza sat back in his chair, rubbing at his temples. Sifting through it all was going to be a nightmare. The truth was they should never have been granted the warrant. All they had was Alcott’s drunken ramblings about poor quality products, a crime that Faulkner might very well be guilty of but he was hardly the only person in Gibraltar with that distinction. No, the whole exercise had been a fishing expedition. There was nothing to link any of this to Rollerston’s disappearance, other than Miss Fisher’s assertion that they were connected, some how.

And yet all his instincts had told him she was right and so he had used his contacts to obtain the information she wanted. The Chief Justice had merely raised an eyebrow at Faulkner’s name and signed the paperwork. He had also reminded Garza that it had been months since he had last taken up his standing invitation to Sunday lunch. The vague promises that Garza made in response were greeted with affection and they parted, as always, on good terms.

Later, the delight on Miss Fisher's face as she presented the warrant to Faulkner when he arrived for his interview had made everything seem worthwhile but now, several hours in with nothing to show for it? Garza glanced at his wristwatch, it was late and he was getting nowhere. He began to stack the papers away, placing the customer lists that Miss Fisher had wanted into his briefcase, the rest went back into boxes.

That left just the one folder on his desk.

Garza twirled a pencil between his fingers, the file was still slim at this stage, and a name was written across it in his meticulous style. Yes, he mused, the honourable Miss Phryne Fisher had been an enigma - he picked up the folder, opened his desk drawer, placed it within and carefully locked it - but he really felt he was starting to understand her better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 9\. Unrelated to my fic but an interesting fact, in 1872 the Mary Celeste was found deserted and adrift in the Atlantic Ocean. She was towed into Gibraltar and the salvage hearing was held in front of the Chief Justice. As we all know the hearing was unable to determine what had befallen the crew of the ship.
> 
> 10\. The Chief Justice in my fic is entirely fictional and not based on the actual Chief Justice of the time, Sir Kenneth James Beatty. But if you’re interested... Beatty was a fascinating guy, he took up the role in 1931, previous to that he had been Chief Justice of Bermuda. Even more interesting he was in fact the son of one of the cattle kings of Victoria, had been a lieutenant in the Boer war, studied at Melbourne University, was admitted to the bar in London, served as registrar in the Transvaal, and was police magistrate and registrar-general in Sierra Leone. Whilst there he wrote an interesting book on the case concerning the Leopard Society, an all male secret group who would dress in leopard skins and attack travelers with weapons made to resemble leopards’ claws and teeth. The victim’s flesh was cut from their bodies and distributed amongst the members because, obviously, this ritual cannibalism strengthened both them and their entire tribe. (*spoiler* it didn’t) _‘Human Leopards: an account of the trials of Human Leopards before the Special Commission Court’_ can be read online for free. Or, if you prefer, Edgar Rice Burroughs wrote about them in one of his Tarzan novels. Beatty also served as a captain in Gallipoli.
> 
> 11\. I suspect the next chapter would be a good time to check in with the barman ; )


	14. The Customer

Garza made it to the bar by his normal hour, sat in his normal seat and accepted his normal refreshment, which he sipped as he chatted idly with the barman whilst they waited for the other patrons to leave. When the last was gone, the barman locked up and returned to his normal place behind the counter.

“My friend, we have a long night ahead,” Garza reached into his briefcase to pull out the papers. “It has been an eventful day and now we must discover what Lord Faulkner has been up to.” More papers appeared on the bar. “Unfortunately, my partner is not available to assist.”

The barman reached across to pick up the first document. “Out celebrating, is she?” he asked, his head lowered, eyes already scanning the paper.

Garza shook his head, “No, she is with Rollerston’s wife. She believes he is dead, and that his honesty was his downfall.”

Blue eyes sought his. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.”

He shrugged. “I did not like her myself, at first” he refilled his glass, “but there is more to her than I realised. She, herself, has suffered the tragedy of loss. I believe this is what drives her to find justice for others, and those that loved them.”

The barman tilted his head, clearly considering Garza's words. “Are you falling in love with her?” he asked.

The only answer to this was to laugh, which he did, before replying, “No. I am, thank goodness, immune to that particular malady.”

The barman shook his head. “No, no one is ever immune." He appeared to hesitate, before deciding to continue, "After the war, my wife and I never… we never reconnected.”

Garza stilled, it was a common enough story but the man so rarely spoke of himself he didn't want to distract him. 

“Eventually we parted ways. I thought I was immune after that, but I was wrong. I met someone.”

Garza waited, but it seemed that the story was over. “And?” he prompted.

“She didn’t feel the same way,” the barman shrugged, picking up a glass and beginning to polish it, “It happens.”

Garza’s eyes widened, “No. I do not believe it. How could that be?”

The barman gave a bitter laugh, “I guess she found someone with better cheekbones.”

“That is not possible, the woman must have been insane,” Garza declared dismissively, holding out a handful of papers as he explained about the supply of inferior products.

The barman started flicking through the papers. “So, we’re to read through these invoices looking for a connection to Rollerston?” He placed one document on the bar in front of him, all the others were discarded to the side. “I agree, by the way, he is dead and he was honest. Do you recall he met his wife during the war? She was with the Red Cross.” He glanced at Garza who nodded as he handed him more papers.

“They say America didn't join the war until 1917 but those women were there within two months of it starting,” the barman noted as he placed another paper down in front of him. “And Rollerston signed up early as well, if I remember rightly.” He stopped to consider the paper in his hand but carried on talking, “I joined up straight away too, I was young, foolish and very, very patriotic.” His eyes drifted up to find Garza gazing at him intently, he grinned, “I am probably still at least one of those.”

In his mind's eye, Garza could see the young man his friend must have been, embarking on what had seemed such a noble adventure. 

“Obviously," said the barman, "I'm no engineer but, in the event of a problem, most of these parts seem so small their failure would be hard to identify as the root cause.” He placed more papers on the growing pile in front of him. “So, the ideal buyer would purchase in bulk and fit the pieces to something which would sail off into the sunset to conveniently become someone else’s problem.”

Garza looked at him enquiringly.

“And if you were a patriotic sort of person you might be more than a little protective of the men on those ships, after all, _we_ wouldn't have won the war without the British Navy.” He put the remainder of the papers in the discarded pile.

Reaching across for the papers his friend had selected, Garza reminded him, “Spain was neutral.”

This earned him a nod, an even wider grin and a wink, “Of course, and that's not _Le Boudin_ I hear you humming when you’re concentrating.”

Garza glared at him.

The barman laughed. “So, what shall we do for the rest of the night?”

In the end they did what they normally did, drunk whiskey as they discussed cold cases and argued over which one they would solve next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12\. _Le Boudin_ is the marching song of the French Foreign Legion. In World War One they fought on the Western Front, including Somme and Verdun, and in the Balkans and Gallipoli. Basque from the Southern (Spanish) part of the country were not eligible to join the French Army like their compatriots in the North but many disagreed with Spain's decision to remain neutral - making the French Foreign Legion an obvious choice. I don't know how the bartender recognised the tune, perhaps he saw the Legion in action during the war, at some stage considered running away to join them himself, or just has a liking for military tunes. 
> 
> 13\. Last interesting fact, the Legion marches at only 88 steps per minute, much slower than the 120 steps per minute of all other French military units so they are always at the end of the parade.


	15. The Invitation

“Another example of your legendary luck?” Phryne teased, as Garza outlined the latest theory.

Seated at his desk he held his hands in front of him, palms up, moving them gracefully apart, and tilted his head in acknowledgement.

“But we still don’t know what happened to Rollerston,” Phryne pointed out.

“That, perhaps, we can enquire of your admirer, Mr Alcott?" He stood, "Would you care to join me?"

“I am beginning to appreciate your style, Inspector,” Phryne admitted, as she followed him across the hall.

Garza held the door open for her to pass into the interview room. Alcott, sitting at the table, looked out of place and nervous. His eyes lit up when he saw her.

“Phryne? What are you...” he started, pausing when Garza appeared in the doorway. He looked quickly between the two of them.  

“Miss Fisher is investigating the disappearance of Harry Rollerston,” Garza explained.

Alcott looked at Phryne as she took the seat opposite him. Garza remained standing, leaning back against the wall with his hands in his trouser pockets, observing.

“Laurence, this isn't going to go away so it will be best if you cooperate,” Phryne's voice was soft and full of sympathy. “Eliza wants to know what happened to her husband and, quite frankly, she won't rest until she does.”

Alcott looked alarmed. “Honestly, Phryne I had no idea what Harry was going to do, if I had, I would have stopped him.”

Phryne nodded, encouragingly. Garza seemed uninterested.

Alcott looked relieved to have someone to talk to. “Harry was an incredible engineer, but he didn't understand business. Our main market was Germany, when America started calling in loans, they stopped buying. The company was on the verge of collapse. Faulkner demanded cost reductions - raw materials are our biggest expense.”

Phryne nodded again, to keep the man talking.

“Yes, our base metal component is less than standard but the alloys are still strong enough to maintain their integrity. Our Metallurgists were meticulous, they checked and double checked. Harry had no business getting involved, it wasn’t part of his role.”

“But he did,” Phryne pointed out.

“I only found that out after, when I…” Alcott’s voice faded away and he looked down at his hands.

Garza spoke this time. “After what, Mr Alcott?”

“I was working late, I didn’t even know there was anyone else in the building until I heard raised voices. I was on my way to investigate and then there was a gunshot.”

Garza pushed himself off the wall.

“They were in Faulkner’s office, he was standing behind his desk with a gun in his hand. Harry was sprawled on the floor with a bullet in his head, a paper covered in calculations clutched in his hand.”

Garza was now standing just to the side of Phryne.

“Faulkner told me Harry thought he had discovered a miscalculation, that we would recall the parts, replace them. When he was told it wasn't a mistake - he was outraged, threatened to go to the Navy, expose what was happening. Faulkner said he had to be stopped before he ruined everything.”

"And so he shot Harry? In cold blood? To save his company?" Phryne was appalled at the callousness of the man. “What did you do with his body?” she asked. Alcott went white. “What did you do?” she repeated, her voice cold.

“Faulkner told me to put it in the furnace… you have to understand, he had a gun,” Alcott pleaded.

Phryne pushed her chair back, gave Alcott a look of disgust and walked out. She could hear Garza cautioning him as she waited in his office.  

Not long after he appeared. “I have sent two of my officers to arrest Faulkner. I anticipate an interesting conversation but now we know what we are looking for, the evidence will prove our case." He hesitated, “Miss Fisher, I wonder..." leaning against his desk, in a dark grey suit, he looked devastatingly handsome, "...would you care to join me for a drink this evening? To celebrate our success?”

Phryne deliberated, she had worked cases with other policemen before Garza but he was the one who most resembled Jack in the way he behaved towards her, and the way he looked. She wondered if those similarities made him more or less attractive? And did she really care to find out?

Garza, perhaps sensing she was about to decline, added quickly, “As professional colleagues, nothing more.”

She smiled. “Of course, tell me when and where. I’ll meet you there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 14\. After WW1 Germany was required to pay reparations, the setting of these was complex and the payment plans many and varied, and it's been a long time since I studied history at university... suffice to say by the early 1920's it was obvious they were not going to be paid. A new plan was implemented with international loans. America was the primary lender. Then Wall Street crashed.


	16. The Drink

I have a confession.” Garza looked over his raised glass at the beautiful woman sitting opposite him.

“If it’s that you lured me here under false pretences, please don’t. I’ve been enjoying our discussion and I’d prefer that we kept our relationship strictly business. Not that you aren’t a very attractive man but...”

“...but I'm not the right man?” Garza suggested.

Phryne looked down at her glass. “No,” she said, her voice low, “no you're not, though you're very close.”

He nodded, “Having read the cases you and Inspector Robinson worked, I shall take that as a compliment.”

Her eyes shot up to meet his. “How do you know about Jack?”

“I am a detective, knowing is what I do.”

"Of course." She looked abashed, "You’ve been investigating me.”

“As you did me,” he pointed out.

She acknowledged the truth of this statement with a slight nod of her head.

“I think you have lost your Inspector." Garza paused to allow her to confirm his suspicion, getting no reaction he continued anyway. "And now you are looking for him. You scan the police reports for cases that could have been solved by him, research the police officers involved, find those that in some way fit his circumstances, then force your way into their investigations hoping one of them will be him.”

He was met with silence.

“But they never are,” she said, finally. “You must have some interesting connections to have worked this out.”

"Mostly, it was a lucky guess." He made his by now familiar hand gesture. "What I have not worked out is how you came to lose him in the first place."

She stared silently into her drink for so long, Garza began to wonder if their evening was at an end.

“I had a family commitment that required me to go to England, I asked him to come after me.”

Garza, with some idea of when and why she had left Melbourne, was interested in how she would tell her tale and so he remained silent.

“Long distance communication is difficult; slow and unreliable but we wrote regularly, making plans and he got on a ship as soon as he could. Once he did though I lost contact with him, there were no more letters, no responses to my telegrams, complete radio silence. I wasn't worried because I knew he was on his way.”

Her fingers tightened around her glass. "Just after he left Melbourne my mother became ill, my father was off on one of his little excursions so I took her to Spain, away from the English winter. I planned to be back in time to meet Jack when he docked in London but her condition deteriorated. I couldn't leave her so I arranged for a friend to collect him, except he didn't get off and when she went looking for him she was told there was no Jack Robinson on the passenger list.”

“He wasn't in Australia, he wasn't on the ship, he had disappeared - I’ve been looking for him ever since.”

Garza let his breath whistle through his teeth. “It has been a long time, for a detective of your ability to be unable to locate a missing man.”

“If this was a case of simple miscommunication I would have tracked him down by now,” she took a deep swallow of her drink, “which means he doesn't want to be found.”

Garza tilted his head.

“Something happened on that ship...” she stared down into her glass. “and whatever it was, it convinced him that I'd changed my mind.”

“Is it possible?” Garza attempted to be delicate, although this wasn’t something that came naturally to him, “Is it possible that he simply changed  _his_ mind?”

“No, Jack took a long time to be sure about us, but once he was - there was never any going back, not for him.”

“And yet he would believe your affections less constant? The man is clearly a fool.”

She gave him a sad smile. “Well, when I find him, I shall be sure to let him know your opinion.”

“You will continue your search, then?”

“I could never leave a mystery unsolved,” she replied.

Garza nodded, ”I approve. And so this is my confession…”

She looked at him intrigued.

“...I know someone, someone who has helped me many times locate missing persons. We discuss cold cases, review files.” He saw her look of surprise. “Yes, it is a terrible breach of regulations, and when you arrived it was this that I believed you were investigating.”

“And you thought you could distract me with your flirting?” Phryne asked.

Garza let his disappointment show on his features, “Was it that obvious?”

She smiled, “Only to someone adept in that particular art.”

“Ah," he shrugged. “My point is, perhaps my friend and I, we can help you to find your missing Inspector? Will you be willing to meet tomorrow night and re-tell your tale?”

Phryne downed her glass before standing to leave, “Why not? Maybe some of your luck will rub off on me.”


	17. The New Case

Later, Garza arrived at the bar at the normal time, sitting in his normal place, and looking forward to discussing their new case and drinking whiskey, as normal. Unfortunately, it all went wrong fairly quickly.

“You’ve done what?” the barman looked at him incredulous.

“I should, perhaps, have spoken with you first, it was just she...”

“You had no right,” the barman spoke right over him.

Garza lowered his head, conscious of overstepping a boundary. “It was wrong of me," he admitted, "but she is looking for someone, someone she…"

"No. Listen. This is what we do - we drink, we read case notes, we throw around theories and when we’re sure we have an answer _you_ investigate. There is a world of difference between that and me pretending to be some sort of... some sort of private detective!” The barman glared at Garza, "And why would I want to meet her?"

"But you spoke with Mrs Rollerston," he pointed out.

"I wouldn't have had to do that if you would try to be a bit more empathetic!” 

Garza winced, this was the first time they had argued - how ironic, he reflected, that it should be over a woman. “I am sorry,” he stood, “I should go.”

The barman gave a curt nod, “Yes, I think that would be best,” he began wiping down the bar, “and be sure to tell your new friend - I can’t help her.”


	18. The Message

Garza, once again his usual, slightly scruffy self, had spent most of the day searching out a particularly intriguing case that he hoped would be accepted as a peace offering. He had yet to speak to Miss Fisher and he knew it was because, unreasonably, he blamed her for what had happened last night at the bar. He glanced at the clock, only an hour before the time they were supposed to meet, he had best not put it off any longer. He stood and walked to the station door. As he passed the counter in the outer office, the duty officer called out to him.

“Inspector Garza, sir? The information you requested from Melbourne has just come in.” He held a folder out.

“Thank you,” Garza said, as he took it. There was no point now but still, he was a curious man. He opened the folder. He stared at its content. He closed the folder and turned back to his office.

“Sir?” the duty officer, familiar with Garza's absent mindedness when he was working on a case, nodded towards the door that opened onto the street, “You were heading out.”

Garza came to a slow stop. He looked down at the folder in his hand. It was true, he had been on his way to relay a message, one that had been made in a most emphatic manner. Obviously, this remained an option. Was he, he wondered, the sort of man that would do such a thing?

The station phone rang and the duty officer moved away to answer it.


	19. The Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies, firstly for the late posting, we went out last night and I was so tired when we returned I dozed off twice whilst doing my last edit - which raised obvious questions as to quality, so it seemed best to have a short nap and try again... Secondly, for the length of this chapter, I am trying to keep the story within the original 21 and I thought this might be one where no one would mind a few extra words.
> 
> Right, going back to sleep now ❤️❤️❤️

Phryne arrived at the bar on time, after all there was no need for her to make an entrance. From outside she could see it was empty with only a solitary light on and behind the bar, with his back to her, was Garza. She was disappointed; an empty bar, romantic lighting, his casual attire and whatever drink it was he was busy concocting. Damn it, hadn't she made her position clear? For a moment she considered walking away - her life was complicated enough - but she was too angry. And so she stormed into the bar determined to give him a piece of her mind, “Inspector, if you think I’m impressed...”

The man turned to confront his unexpected guest.

Phryne's voice faded away, eyes scanning across his features before coming to rest on the lock of hair falling unrestrained across his forehead. She actually felt quite light headed and it took a moment to pull herself together. "Well,” she said, “this is a surprise.”

He just continued to stare at her.

She glanced down at the bottle in his hand. “I think I could do with that drink now, if you're offering.”

He placed two glasses on the counter and filled them with the whiskey he reserved for himself and Garza.

Phryne took a seat, a decent gulp of alcohol and then looked round the bar. “Nice place,” she said, “have you been here all this time?”

He nodded, “Pretty much.”

“Any particular reason?”

He shrugged, “It's where the wind blew me. I was being spontaneous.”

“I see,” she raised her glass, in salute. “I think it would be fair to describe giving up your job to go walkabout in Europe and ending up as a barman in Gibraltar as spontaneous. Well done.”

“Thank you, I'm glad you approve.”

She put down her glass, carefully, before responding. “I don’t actually. Approve. In fact, I'm pretty damn annoyed about it.”

“Really? I don’t see how it’s any concern of yours.”

“No concern of mine? The man I love disappears without a trace and then one day I walk into a bar and there he is?” Phryne stood on the foot rail so she could lean across the counter. “I don’t know what I want to do more, drag you over this bar and kiss you till you lose consciousness or slap you for disappearing on me in the first place.”

“The man you love?” It was clear that he hadn’t managed to follow the entire conversation.

“Alright, that's decided it.” Phryne grabbed him by the shoulder jerking him forward so she could run her hand through his hair and bring his head to hers. And kissed him. At first she could feel him resist, and so she dug her fingers in, making clear neither of them was going anywhere. Not this time, to hell with doing the right thing - twice she had put her parents first and the price had simply been too high.

She knew the exact moment he gave in because his hand swept their glasses out of the way, his arms wrapped around her and she was hauled, rather inelegantly, across the bar, to be kissed back in a way that confirmed completely his feelings for her. When he finally released her, she nestled into his chest, her head resting on his shoulder, her fingers twisted in his hair.

“Now _that_ is exactly the kind of welcome a woman hopes for after all this time,” she said breathlessly.

His arms tightened around her. “What made you change your mind?”

“Change my mind?” Though she was far more interested in nuzzling into the delicious gap between his throat and his open shirt collar, she nonetheless attempted conversation. “What are you talking about? I haven’t changed my mind.” She felt his arms drop as he tried to pull away. 

“If you haven't changed your mind, what are you doing here?”

The icy tone of his voice shocked her into allowing him to step back. She spun round to sit on the bar. “Jack!” she reached out to entwine her fingers with his, refusing to let him withdraw completely, “what is it you think I need to change my mind about?”

His eyes narrowed. “Choosing me.”

“Of course I choose you,” she said.

“Then, why did you change your mind about Plymouth?”

“Plymouth?” furrows appeared on her brow, “I don't recall ever having an opinion about Plymouth to change."

He looked puzzled by her reply, "Phryne, we agreed to meet in Plymouth...”

She interrupted him, shaking her head, “...no, you were getting off at Tilbury, that’s where I sent Harriet to pick you up."

"That was the original plan, but..." he looked at her, his concern obvious, "Did you have an accident, suffer some sort of head injury?"

"An accident? No. Clearly there has been a miscommunication but even if I didn’t go to Plymouth that doesn’t justify your disappearing act.”

“My disappearing act? When I received your telegram, I went straight to your father’s estate to talk to you face to face, only to find the house was shut up.”

“That can’t be right, Father should have been there.”

“If there had been someone in the house I’m fairly sure I wouldn't have had to break in.”

“Jack!” she said, her voice full of unfeigned admiration, “You broke into my father’s house? _Now_  I am impressed.” He blushed, and she was pleased to see she could still affect him like that. 

“On the hall table I found the postcards from Spain,” he said.    

She looked confused. “But if you knew I was in Spain, why didn't you come to me?”

“After your telegram and the fact that the postcards confirmed that you were not alone?”

“You didn’t want to meet my mother?” she asked, more than a bit taken aback by this revelation.

“What?” Jack blinked at her couple of times. “I didn’t want to turn up, uninvited.”

Something about the way he shuffled and dropped his head, told her there was more to this, so, she took a guess, “But you did, you did come to Spain!”

He tried to pull away again, and again she refused to let him go. “I had come a long way to be with you, Phryne, given up everything, did you think I would just walk away without at least trying to see you?”

She saw his eyes flick down to her left hand, “Why did you just do that?” she asked, holding it up so he could see it clearly. He looked away before she could read the expression on his face and she decided not to pursue that line of enquiry, at least not right now. “Jack, when did you come to Spain?”

“Too late,” he replied, “the house was shut up, the neighbour told me you and your… companion had moved on.”

“My companion?” Phryne queried, thinking that they were getting to the source of the problem now. 

“I told you I wouldn't ask you to give up who you are and I meant it, but I hoped...” he dropped his eyes to where their hands were still entwined. “...I hoped that if I waited, one day you might change your mind.”

“Jack, I have no idea what you are talking about. Not about Plymouth, the telegram you received or this mysterious companion I apparently had. All I know is you got on an ocean liner in Melbourne, didn't disembark in Tilbury and your name wasn't on the passenger list.” She pulled him in to stand between her legs, sliding her hands up his arms to his neck. “I don’t understand what happened and I promise we’ll work that all out later but…,” she ran her hands through his hair and tightened her legs around him, “...right now, I just want to convince myself I've found you and I can think of much better ways to do that than standing around talking in a bar.”

"What do you mean, found..." 

Phryne put her finger on his lips to silence him. "Later, Jack, we'll talk more later," she promised as she kissed him again.


	20. The Guest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 15\. The eagle-eyed amongst you will see I have had to extend the fic by one chapter. I was hoping to avoid this but the impact on the storyline was too much. 
> 
> Sorry. 
> 
> 16\. Quitingmom alert! This chapter contains references to material that, whilst not graphic in nature, may be considered in breach of these rules. 
> 
> Not Sorry.

Jack awoke to the unfamiliar sensation of someone lying beside him. Though it wasn’t unusual for a woman to be in his bed, none were invited to stay the night, nor would they expect, or even want, to be. Lying on his side, facing out towards the sea, he wondered how he could get rid of the no-longer-wanted guest without a scene. There was enough of the old inspector in him to feel guilty for this - but only just.

That thought had him recalling the first reckless decision he had made a few months after his arrival in England. Melbourne had been tainted with memories and, with no family or friends of his own, there seemed no reason to return. He had resigned his job, ditched his suitcase for a rucksack and headed to Europe. It had been an opportunity to live the life he wanted, well, not exactly the one he wanted but nonetheless one free of expectations.

As winter settled in, he’d moved south until he reached Gibraltar, where he found himself so short of money he had to choose between eating or sending his customary postcard. Whilst waiting in the queue at the Post Office he had seen the advert for the job in the bar. He did a couple of nights as a trial, impressed with his ability to handle drunks, failed to impress with his lack of knowledge of cocktails but, on balance, the owner felt the latter skill could be learnt and no one else had applied, so he got the job.

Almost immediately he had discovered the romantic appeal of an Australian barman abroad far outweighed that of a policeman in Victoria. At first, exploring this unexpected revelation had been enough but as time passed it began to feel almost as lonely as being on his own. He had been considering moving on to Morocco when Garza walked into the bar.

The man had sat, studiously drinking whiskey with a determination Jack recognised from his worst days. Eventually, he had asked the obvious, “Want to talk about it?”

Through blurry eyes, that had likely known too little sleep for too many nights, the man regarded him with interest. “Will it help?”

Jack shook his head. “It never helped me,” he admitted.

The man snorted.

“But it's worth a try,” Jack placed two glasses on the bar and filled them, “plus I won’t charge you for drinks as long as you’re interesting.”

The man tilted his head, considering the offer. “I am a policeman,” he said.

Jack shrugged, “Drinks still free.”

The man blinked a few times, as though to clear his head then held out his hand. “Detective Inspector Emilio Garza and if you are wondering, yes, I am off duty.”

“John,” Jack grasped his hand and shook it. “I’m not a policeman,” he added, rather pleased with how easily he was able to say that. “And I am on duty,” he glanced around the bar, “but I don't expect anyone here cares.” He smiled.

That had been the start of their friendship. Garza had told him he was working on a missing persons case but getting nowhere, whilst a boy's life hung in the balance - at least he hoped the boy was still alive. Jack had considered everything he said, asked questions, made suggestions and by the end of the night Garza had a notebook full of further lines of investigation. A few days later Jack read in the paper that the boy had been recovered unharmed.

He had been pleased when Garza showed up a couple of nights later and they spoke about some of his other cases. Outside of these Garza never asked questions, presumably because he didn’t wish to provide any answers of his own. It was, in many ways, the perfect friendship for Jack, who was painfully short on answers himself. Their evening drinks became a habit and Jack began to think he may have found somewhere to call home.

Of course, now Phryne had… Jack froze, memories of last night rushing in. He turned over quickly to find her staring at him.

“Would you like me to go?” she asked.


	21. A Resolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long chapter. As the end draws nigh I want to thank all you readers and those who have shared their thoughts and feelings both here and on Slack : ) In my opinion this feedback is as much part of the story as the words I have written ❤️❤️❤️

“Go?” Jack spluttered, “Why would I want you to go?” Last night had been amazing, at least from his perspective. “Unless you want to go,” maybe from her perspective it hadn't been all that good. “Do you want to go?” he asked nervously.

She snuggled into him, seemingly unaware of his concerns. “After all this time, I am expecting more than one night of pleasure.”

Hoping his relief hadn’t been too obvious, he slid one arm under her and rested his other hand on her hip, willing to encourage any attempts on her part to find more pleasure. He closed his eyes, breathed in her scent and enjoyed the silky softness of her skin against his.

“Anyway, now that you're _finally_ awake, I’ve been lying here thinking about last night,” his hand began to stroke along the curve of her hip, “the part where we were talking,” she clarified, his hand stilled, “and it occurs to me we were at cross purposes more than once.

Suddenly he found himself being pushed away, his eyes flew open, but it seemed she merely wanted to roll onto her stomach, drape herself partially across his chest and look down at him. Sternly. “Focus, Jack! I have a theory, it is entirely circumstantial, but that’s never been a reason for me not to share something,” she grinned, “with _my_ Inspector.”

God, he thought, I have missed you. He put his arm around her and relaxed back to listen to what, given their current state of undress, was already guaranteed to be the most exciting denouement he had ever attended.

“Nowadays, telegrams are sent directly to ships wherever they are in the world by wireless technology. It’s much faster than the old short distance wireless which needed the ship to be within a certain distance of the shore and of course meant that there were times when ships could not be contacted. Interestingly, the long distance receiving station happens to be in Portishead, which is in the South West of England and close, as you know, to my parents.”

“That is fascinating, Miss Fisher,” Jack said, mainly because it was but also a little because he wanted to see what it felt like to be able use his preferred term of endearment for her, after all this time. By the way her eyes sparkled at him, she thought it sounded good too.

“Isn’t it, Jack?” she gave him a quick peck on the lips. “This was all very helpfully explained to me by a delightful elderly gent I met at a pub when I was staying with my parents. He worked at the station and was kind enough to offer his personal services for the sending of any communications I might wish to make to my young man.” She sighed, “It’s always disappointing to discover people aren’t what they seem. I should have known better than to trust anyone at my father’s local.”

“If you are suggesting some sort of elaborate scheme on the part of your father to keep us apart - I don’t agree. I spoke with him when I returned to England from Spain, and he was extremely keen to help me contact you. In fact, the postcards were his idea, he agreed to send them on so you would know where I was if...,” he stuttered slightly, “...if... you ever changed your mind.”

“Postcards?” she said, then another thought struck her, “Of course, the postcards you found in the hall were a set up. First they gave you the wrong idea about what I was doing in Spain, although,” she frowned at him and shook her head, slowly, “why you would ever be so foolish as to think I would marry _anyone_ is beyond me. And secondly, they must have directed you to the wrong place in Spain.” She stopped talking abruptly, “Did you just say you sent postcards?”  

He nodded. “Every time I moved country. And on your birthday.”

“Oh…” A vision of packets from her father that were angrily discarded, unopened in the nearest bin, played across her mind. “I don’t think we can blame father for that entirely. We had a falling out you see, just before you arrived and have yet to make up.” She went uncharacteristically silent. “Ah. I think I may know how this all started. You received a telegram ostensibly from me when you were onboard the ship telling you to get off in Plymouth and then when you got there, another. What did the telegram you received in Plymouth say?”

Jack didn’t bother to pretend he hadn't read or puzzled over it a thousand times, “It said, ‘Jack. Sorry bad timing. Phryne.’”

“Well, what on earth is that supposed to mean?” she demanded, as if he could somehow enlighten her.

He shook his head at her, “That’s exactly what I was going to ask you.”

“Sorry, forget I said that.” She kissed him again, her lips lingering against his longer this time. “I wonder, did you get any of my telegrams whilst you were on the ship? Because I received nothing from you.”

Jack blushed, “In that case, somewhere in Portishead there is an old man drowning in a deluge of Shakespearean quotes.”

She laughed. ”Don’t worry I’m sure he appreciated them. Anyway, father and I fell out because he wanted me to charm an American businessman he was trying to get to invest in another of his fanciful schemes. Of course the whole notion was ridiculous and I told him so. Now, I took mother to Spain in March, just after you left Melbourne. You arrived in May and in June father’s business associate turned up, completely unnecessarily and rather annoyingly to escort us back to England. The man was clearly under the impression that I was somehow included in the business deal so I think it is very possible that father came up with a plan that would have seen you delayed just enough for the ink to dry on the cheque he hoped to secure. Hence the wild goose chase to Spain.” She paused, “And presumably he paid someone to remove your name from the ship’s passenger list knowing Harriet would go straight to Plymouth to find you. Although why father had to go so far as to make you think we were married, I’m not sure”

“He didn’t,” Jack admitted, “that arose from my conversation with the neighbour.”

“I didn’t know you spoke Spanish, Jack.”

“I don’t, not really,” he admitted. “Garza laughs at my attempts all the time.”

“It seems all father was trying to do then was keep you out of the way for a couple of months which also explains why he has been so keen to help you subsequently. As soon as we reached England I left mother to be escorted home by the American, and went straight to Harriet in London. The whole journey had been intolerable and I swore never to speak to my father again for inflicting the fool upon me so I haven’t been to the estate since. My father probably thinks I know where you are and… My God, Jack! It’s just occurred to me - you thought this whole time that I knew you were here, but I didn’t,” she assured him. “In fact I’ve been torturing policemen all over Europe searching for you.”

“Torturing police... hang on, are you the woman who’s been working with Garza? But you’re not American!”

Phryne tilted her head, puzzled. “Why would I be American?”

“He said this new partner had been to school with Mrs Rollerston…”

“Ah,” Phryne looked slightly embarrassed, “I do prefer to tell the truth whenever possible but these were exceptional circumstances and I needed to explain my interest in the case to the Commissioner. I’ve never met her before in my life. Would you mind not telling Garza?” She thought for a moment, “Though he probably already knows - he is a strange and rather mysterious person, your inspector.”

Jack sighed. “Phryne you haven’t changed at all. Still forcing your way into other people's lives, disrupting everything and then riding off into the sunset.”

“You’re wrong. I have changed,” she said, rolling away but pulling him over with her so that they lay on their sides. “I’ve changed so much sometimes I hardly recognise myself, and this time, when I ride off into the sunset I am taking you with me.”

Jack blinked. “And where exactly do you plan to take me?”

“Back to Melbourne. We need to get your job sorted out.”

“Maybe I don't want to go back to being a policeman.”

“Jack, you never stopped being a policeman.”

He thought about that. “I did. I had to learn to make cocktails.”

“Well, that is an excellent skill, and one that will definitely come in handy, but you are infinitely more useful as a policeman.”

Jack found himself getting distracted by the feel of her naked body against his, which he had no doubt was exactly what she intended. “And if I want to be more to you than just a handy policeman?” he asked as he ran his open hand down from her shoulder, following the contour of her spine to her buttock and further, until he found her thigh. He guided her leg up to rest on his hip and pressed his pelvis against hers in case she was unsure what he meant.

“You have never been _just_ a policeman to me.” She moved against him.

Jack’s body was clear that talking was not its current priority but still, he wasn’t prepared to have her think she could dictate everything. “But I like being a barman, I’ve met so many interesting people.”

“I suspect, Inspector, that you have met more than enough _interesting people_ and it’s time for us to go home, to Melbourne.” She ground herself against him, eliciting a soft hum of pleasure and he realised she had a strategy that guaranteed she would win every argument they ever had. Grinning, he made a mental note to begin compiling a list of things to argue about.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 17\. From 1927 Portishead operated a long-range world-wide ship-to-shore radio service. Every two hours Portishead Radio would transmit a list of ships' call signs for which messages were waiting. The ship would then contact Portishead whenever it wanted to pick up the message or send any message. All messages received by Portishead were forwarded to London Central Telegraph Office to be sent to their intended recipient.


	22. The Farewell

Phryne rapped on the glass of the open door and waited for Garza to look up. He was unshaven and rumpled, much as he’d been the first time they met.

“I wanted to let you know, we’re heading back to Melbourne tomorrow,” Phryne said as she took a seat opposite him. “I’m sorry to take him away so quickly, but the sooner we get home, the better.”

Garza placed the document in his hand into a folder by his elbow. “I think that is best.”

She gave him a long, considered look. “I expected you to be more upset.”

He shrugged, “My case closures will decline, my superiors will be unhappy but things will adjust. Eventually.”

“You were successful before Jack and will be after,” she scoffed. She leaned back in her chair. “We both know you don't need him to make you look good.”

“Do we?”

She sat forward. “You worked with Jack because you enjoyed it. You’re every bit as gifted a detective as he is.”

“Am I?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you can be incredibly frustrating?” she asked, her voice rising slightly.

He smiled. “No, I do not recall anyone finding me so.”

“Liar!”

He chuckled.

"I definitely liked you better when you were trying to seduce me." Phryne took a calming breath, “Don’t make me regret coming here to thank you. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn't befriended him - I may never have found him.”

He made his now familiar gesture, “It is luck, merely luck, Miss Fisher.”

She nodded. “You really are the luckiest man I have ever met.”

Garza smiled, though truth be told, he wasn’t feeling particularly lucky at the moment. He glanced at his watch and then up at the door to his office. “I must ask you to excuse me, I have an appointment and a report to finish before it.”

Standing, she held out her hand. “Farewell, Inspector.”

He stood too, grasped her hand and shook it firmly. “Take care of him.”

When she had left he resumed his seat and sat, staring at nothing. 

* * *

The sign on the door proclaimed that the bar was closed but the familiar light was still on and when Garza tried the door wasn’t locked. Pushing it open, he saw two glasses already filled with amber liquid on the counter, waiting.

“I was starting to worry you might not come,” Jack looked up from the glasses he was stacking, to Garza, and then down to his watch. “You’re late.”

Garza made himself comfortable on his normal seat. “I think you have forgiven me then.” He placed an envelope on the counter.

Jack looked at it suspiciously. “What’s that?”

Garza pushed the envelope towards him. “A commendation for the assistance you have given the Gibraltar Police during your sojourn with us. Most of the details are missing,” he admitted, ‘but that is why it is so positive.”

Jack picked it up, opened the envelope and read the contents quickly; a glowing account, skillfully crafted to obscure the unofficial nature of his assistance and accompanied by a personal note of thanks from the Chief Justice. He carefully put everything back in the envelope. “Thank you,” he said, picking up his drink, there was a clink as their glasses touched gently together. They drank in silence.

“Would you have told me, do you think?” Garza asked.

Jack stared down into his glass. “Probably, one day.” He looked at Garza, “Would it have made a difference?”

“Maybe, though I think the story I created for you in my mind was far more exciting than the reality.”

Jack looked at him, amused by this admission, “I’m glad then, that it wasn’t my story.”

Garza finished his drink and stood. “Miguel will be sorry to lose you, you are a good barman.”

“It was fun,” Jack admitted, “but not really who I am.”

"Of course," Garza slipped on his coat and put his hat on his head. “Goodbye, my friend." He held out his hand for Jack to shake. "It was indeed fun."

As he made his way home through dark, empty streets Garza realised it was true, what he had told Miss Fisher. Being alone did indeed become a habit.

* * *

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks Sarahtoo for all your help and inspiration ❤️❤️❤️


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